England's Spying
by EspeonSilverfire2
Summary: Collection of oneshots. Apparently, England's spying is the best in the world. But is it really? What's America planning this time? And just how can Italy crash a plane cooking pasta anyway? Rated T for England's foul mouth. And Romano's. Some minor USUK.
1. England's Spying

_A/N- Hello everyone! This is my first fan fic for Hetalia, so I hope I got the characters right. The story is based upon a short flash animation I created, which is on the internet for those who'd like to watch it (shameless plug)... I hope you like it- comments are very much welcome, and I enjoy feedback on my work. Uhm, lemme see, what else did I want to say...? Ah, yes! Well, I'm English myself, so this is written in 'British English' so to speak. I tried to use American terms when America is speaking/being described, but if I used something British by mistake, please feel free to correct me!_

_So, this is rated T for England's foul mouth (which I have to admit is very much like my own!). There is also slight USUK if you wish to interpret it that way (and I won't stop you! Tee hee...)_

_I think that's everything, so please enjoy!_

ooo

**England's Spying**

**Hetalia- Axis Powers**

Something tickled England's cheek as he pushed his face further into the bushes, craning his neck to get a better look at his target. His binoculars were pressed tightly to his face as he struggled to clearly make out the scene before him. He was faintly aware of an irritating itch paining his left thigh, but dismissed it as merely a product of the brand new Union Jack boxer shorts he'd purchased the day before. That would be the last time he'd pick a fight with France while over at Greece's house. Those cats were nasty buggers if you accidently stepped on their tails.

Brushing a stray leaf from his hair, he sighed as he lowered his binoculars. It was no good; he didn't have a decent view from here. Still, no-one was better at spying than Great Britain, he was sure of that. With a superior smirk he lowered himself to the ground and slunk forwards, closer to his target.

ooo

"Hey! Germany! Look at this! I got some fresh water by doing that distilling thing like you told me to! Now I can make some pasta for us!"

Germany looked up from the puzzle game he was whittling out of a block of driftwood, quickly shoving it behind his back. He didn't want Italy to catch sight of his Christmas present early, not that he'd want to admit to hand-making a present for the carbohydrate-lover anyway. And if the strange little Italian didn't like it, he supposed he could always sell it at the Christmas Market.

"Italy, we are stranded on a desert island. Even if we do have drinkable water, where the hell do you think you're going to get ingredients for pasta from?"

Italy's mouth shrunk into a small 'o', and the tearful expression on his face stabbed like a knife into Germany's heart. "Since you told me how to get the water, I was hoping you would know where to find the other things too…"

Germany growled in frustration, but then his face turned resigned. "Urgh… I was hoping to save this a little longer and not use it so soon, but…"

With a sigh he reached around behind the log he was perched on and grabbed the small emergency supply kit he'd had strapped to his belt when they'd crash landed (only_ Italy_ could bring a plane down by cooking pasta). Undoing the fastening, he tugged out the small packet of dried spaghetti he'd slipped in there a few weeks before just in case. As he turned around with the treat, he saw Italy's face light up in the way that always had him imagining twinkling stars and chime-filled music surrounding the man.

"PASTAAAAAAAAA!" the Italian cried out and leapt forwards, simultaneously seizing the treasure and grabbing Germany in a hug that almost knocked the robust man him off his perch.

As the blond tried to pry the over-enthusiastic pastaphile from his chest, he heard a familiar patter of footsteps heading towards him. He turned his head as the oncomer spoke.

"I did not think that you would use the pasta already," Japan gently chided, coming up and parking himself a few inches down the log from his friends. "I am also curious as to why you are allowing Italy to invade your personal space."

"Ah well, he wouldn't be _invading_ if I had allowed him to, _ja_?" He gave a more forceful tug and finally succeeded in separating the Italian from himself. "And I just couldn't say no when I saw that sad expression on his face. Like a kicked puppy…"

"I suppose, but still-"

Japan stopped abruptly with a small, surprised gasp as the sound of singing drifted over to them. Turning his head, he saw Italy a few metres away, crouching over a small fire and cooking pasta.

"_Draw a circle, that's the Earth. Draw a circle, that's the Earth. Draw a circle, that's the Earth. I am Hetalia…"_

He laughed as he sang and his eyes sparkled. Japan couldn't help but understand Germany's predicament now he could see just how happy the small treat had made the Italian. Mind you, he still thought it undeniably strange.

ooo

America sang as he dumped his clothes in a messy pile and stepped into the shower, leaving his glasses on a nearby shelf next to his toothbrush. He ran a hand through his hair as he turned on the water and enjoyed the sensation of the hot liquid running over his aching limbs. As much as he hated to admit it, England's comments about his burger-filled diet and potential (i.e. guaranteed) weight gain had gotten to him. And so, he had just spent the last hour having a really good work out in the gym. Of course, that had left him bathed in sweat and undeniably grimy, which had led to his present situation.

As he reached for the shampoo, however, his hand froze as he was struck by a sudden thought.

"I wonder how England's spying is going? He did volunteer to do some reconnaissance today…"

America's eyebrows pushed together in a frown as he bit his knuckle in concern.

"I am the hero- maybe I should've gone with him…"

He debated this for another second, water dripping past his regretful eyes, before he looked up, a beaming smile commandeering his features. With a small shrug, he leaned over towards the bright yellow rubber duck on a small shelf. "Still, nothing we can do about that now, right Mr Ducky?"

ooo

Meanwhile, the heart-warming realisation and adorable moment the axis had shared was beginning to wear off, and Italy's constant babble was starting to drive the large German crazy as he changed from the black sleeveless top he'd been wearing before into a slightly warmer dark blue shirt.

"So then I ate some pasta, and the lady seemed so lovely in her red dress as she watched me eat. And after she'd gone I was getting really hungry again, so I thought I'd have some pizza too. But I had a craving for both pasta _and_ pizza, you see? And then it occurred to me… why not put some pasta on the pizza? It tasted surprisingly nice, but I'm thinking maybe I should stick to just having them separately. So I decided, next time I feel like both, I'll just eat them one after the other!"

Germany fell, a vein pulsing in his forehead. '_If he says one more word about pasta, I think I'm going to explode!'_

"Hey, Germany? What your favourite kind of pasta? For me it's a hard choice between-"

"ARGH! THAT IS IT!" the blond screamed, and without warning he ran over to the nearest tree, roaring a string of incomprehensible German, and proceeded to bash his head repeatedly against the trunk. After a full minute of this he promptly keeled over, a small trail of blood trickling down onto the sand. After a few moments of hesitation, Italy crept closer.

"…Germany?"

ooo

Once again removing his binoculars, a sly smile twisted the corner of England's mouth up. Absorbing the scene before him with his brilliant green eyes, he allowed a small, gleeful mutter to escape his lips.

"Perfect…"

As he allowed the joy of a plan coming into full fruition to wash over him, he thought he heard a sound nearby. But as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. Pausing for a moment in puzzlement, he then decided it must've just been the wind, and shrugged it off. With an evil chuckle he leaned forward again and lifted up his binoculars.

Only to hear the rustle once more. Looking up completely this time, he surveyed his surroundings more thoroughly. Nothing in the trees, and he'd already checked through the bushes before coming to this spot. So where the bloody hell was this sound coming from then?

It then occurred to the man in green that he hadn't checked below him. It also occurred to him how stupid that fact was. He also instantaneously decided to never share that fact with anyone, especially America. Or France. Definitely not France.

Looking down, he froze. His mind seemed to ground to a halt, and the mental rant about France's 'smug git' attitude and his desire to punch the rose-toting asshole in the face was cut off abruptly as his body had the sudden urge to flush out his bowels.

"S…snake…"

Green eyes met black, beady ones. A thin tongue slipped out, tasting the air. A hiss echoed through the trees. England whimpered. And then…

"SNAKE! BLOODY HELL IT'S A SNAKE! WHAT THE HELL IS A SNAKE DOING HERE ANYWAY? I THOUGHT I'D CHECKED THIS PLACE! AND THERE WERE NO SNAKES HERE LAST TIME I LOOKED! GET IT AWAY! SOMEBODY GET THIS BLOODY THING AWAY FROM ME!"

And a tiny part of his mind thought- '_How humiliating. I'm screaming like a little girl.'_

ooo

Italy looked up.

"Hey, Japan? Did you just hear something?"

The dark-haired man looked up from where he was examining the incapacitated German. "I hear only the sound of an idiot."

ooo

America glanced up suddenly, startled by the strange, strangled noise that had come from outside. "I wonder what that noise is?" Turning off the water in the shower, he decided to investigate. "It seemed to come from the yard. What could be out there? Whatever the case, if it's an animal I should chase it off. I don't want it damaging anything…"

He gave a jolt as the commotion started up again, louder than before. Wasting no time, he grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and wrapped it around his waist as he ran for the door. Slamming it open, he looked down to a sight he didn't expect.

In front of him was a crumpled green heap on the ground which appeared to be moaning quietly. Very slowly, England raised his head, clutching it in pain and muttering about, "Bloody reptiles. I'll shoot them all." His eyes widened as he caught sight of the man in front of him. They widened even further as he realised it was America. They almost fell out of their sockets when he realised that the Yank was only wearing a small white towel.

America himself was just as speechless. When England had agreed to go spying, he had thought the man would be off investigating the Axis. He hadn't thought that the Brit would be spying on _him_.

England let out a pathetic 'bloody hell I'm screwed' laughed as the long, drawn-out, awkward pause lengthened.

"Oh bollocks."


	2. America's 'Lost Empire'

_A/N- Hello again! Since I got some positive feedback on the first Hetalia oneshot I wrote, I decided to write another, and make this fic a collection of oneshots. This one took me 3-4 days to write. Well, I wrote the first 3 paragraphs on day 1 and the rest on day 4, but who cares about the specifics? There was so much I wanted to include in this one, but I'm mostly happy with how it came out (I couldn't put in everything), although the end feels kind of rushed. I'm getting tired and my brain's dying, but I wanted to get this finished. I hope it's okay- reviews are very welcome! I try to reply to every single one._

_So, this fic is T for foul mouths and um... France (you'll see). More slight USUK too! (Probably more so this time than last). I also spent a good chunk of my writing time researching the things discussed in the fic... Atlantis is not what I thought it was (but I loved the Disney movie- it was the first dvd my family ever bought). Anyway, enjoy!_

_Disclaimer- Whoops, forgot to do this last time! Uh, me no own Hetalia. Otherwise I would be in there going drinking with England (but I'm underage so i'd just have a coke)._

_ooo_

**America's 'Lost Empire'**

ooo

**Date- Wednesday 13****th**** July 2011**

**Location- Rome, Italy**

**Weather- Warm and sunny with some clouds and a light breeze.**

Basking on the warm, crumbling stone of an ancient, fallen pillar, a cat purred. Shafts of sunlight cut across the landscape, picking out the peaks and troughs of the once mighty ruins. With a huff, the blond collapsed onto the pillar, parking himself in between his companion and the feline. Panting with the exertion of his now ceased activity, he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand as the harsh sunlight rained down upon his pale skin. His green eyes were half-lidded as he peered up at the sky. Nearby, a figure lay sprawled out over the remains of a column, slumbering peacefully.

"You know, Italy, I'm starting to think it was a bad idea to cave in to America's pleading and look for clues to the location of the lost city of Atlantis in the ruins of Ancient Rome…"

"Ah, maybe you're right… But it's fun, _ve_?"

England glanced over at his fellow excavator's cheerful expression. Unsurprisingly, the Italian seemed to be unaffected by the warm weather. Well, it was his country after all.

"Indeed. I'm quite a fan of archaeology myself. The United Kingdom is full of ancient sites and artefacts. I'm just happy that the three of us could pool together our expertise on this one. Still, I didn't expect Greece to fall asleep so quickly…"

Italy laughed and patted the Brit's shoulder with a hand. "That's Greece for you! Anyway, I was wandering… what happened to America? Wasn't he supposed to join us?"

England grimaced and slumped forwards as he recalled the events of the past few days. "Ah… that's… a long story…"

"That's okay. I've got time!"

The blond chuckled and then leaned back, peering into the sky for a moment. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. After a moment, a smile slowly spread across his face, and he looked across at Italy, ready to begin his story.

"Well, it all began last Monday…"

ooo

**Date- Monday 11****th**** July 2011**

**Location- Generic Meeting Room, Somewhere in Nevada, USA**

**Weather- Outside: Hot, Inside: Ridiculously hot because **_**someone**_** broke the air con… (Italy)**

"Hey! What's up everyone! Are we all here yet?"

England gave the American his most withering look and sighed, returning his cup to its saucer. "That depends; you never told us who you invited here or why."

"Hmm, let me see now…" America thought, slumping down into his chair. He started counting on his fingers as he listed the countries he'd summoned. "England, France, Germany, Italy, that other Italian guy, China, Russia, Japan, Greece, Spain and… um… err… Oh who cares? If I can't remember them they probably aren't important anyway."

"Half-wit," England muttered.

"This remind me of ancient story about annoyed tiger who went swimming…" China mused.

"Asshole!" Romano cussed and tried to stand up, only to be seized around the waist by Veneziano and hauled back down.

"Please don't start a fight Romano!" the younger brother pleaded, clinging tightly to his flailing sibling. Next to them, Germany did something which can be described as most closely resembling a 'facepalm'.

"Anyway, moving on…" America interrupted, somehow managing to drown out the growing cacophony the room's occupants seemed to be generating. He glanced at each member for a brief moment, noting that Greece was already asleep; Spain was munching on churros ; France was twiddling with a piece of string and shaping it into what appeared to be a love heart; England was pouring himself another cup of tea; Germany was berating the Italy brothers; Russia was… well he was staring at them all with a smile but he was probably planning something evil; Japan appeared to be groaning internally while watching his friends and China looked like he was drawing up plans to construct a Chinatown in the meeting room. "Time to talk to you all about why I called you here."

At this the others finally began to give him their attention. Romano was coaxed back down into his seat; Greece half-opened one eye and China tucked his blueprints away. The aura in the room could be described as 'mild curiosity', although most of the countries present (especially England) were expecting this to simply be a waste of their time.

"I called you all here," America announced, beaming with pride and excitement, "to unveil my new plan to you. You're so totally gonna love it- it's got action, excitement _and _adventure! I present to you: Operation Atlantis!"

At this he mentally punched the air in glee and held up a piece of paper with the words '_Plan- Find the lost city of Atlantis! (And claim it for the USA)_' written on it. The countries expressions could be grouped into three categories: intrigued, bemused and disdainful.

"Just as I thought, another of your asinine schemes," England groaned, sipping from his teacup.

"Another load of horse crap," Romano concurred.

"I think it sounds like fun!" Italy beamed, eyes sparkling as he pictured himself gazing at the ancient wonders of the lost city. "Don't you Germany?"

Germany looked at Italy, full of ambivalence. His logical side told him to dismiss the idea as ludicrous, but Italy looked so happy and enthusiastic that it was making him want to agree. In the end he settled for, "I'm not sure."

"What do you think, Greece?" France asked from across the table, setting his string heart down. "It was Plato who first mentioned Atlantis, and he was Greek, _non?_"

Greece stared at the Frenchman for a moment, unsure whether or not to answer. Eventually he responded with, "…I …I think it sounds okay. Maybe… if we work together… we can find it."

"Great!" America beamed. "That's one down! What about you, Russia?"

"I think it good idea to dig for lost city. That way, while your backs are turned and you are busy, I can take my pickaxe and-"

"I think we'll be fine without your help, Russia," America interrupted, terrified of the dark aura the country was emanating, and the almost-sadistic look on his face as a quiet chant of '_kolkolkol_' drifted across the room. Sat next to the Russian, China edged away in his seat. Moving on, America decided to ask the panda-fan.

"Uh… China, what do you say?"

China gave Russia one last wary glance before turning his nose up at America's offer. "No thank you. Your plan is stupid aru."

"Well, if you say so. Spain?" America gave a hopeful look at the man in question, who had now finished his churros and was looking longingly at the tomato Italy had given Romano to calm him down.

"I would like to, but I promised to go with South Italy on holiday to Africa, so neither of us can join in."

At this America looked slightly upset, but his usual optimism soon kicked back in. "Germany?"

The German still seemed ambivalent, and his gaze kept flickering between his hands on the table, Italy and America. "I don't really want to help with the digging, but…" He sighed. "I will pay for transport and get you any equipment you need."

"Awesome! Welcome to the team, man! Italy?"

"Count me in! As long as there's pasta!"

"All the pasta you can eat!" the American promised, now euphoric. "Japan?"

"I am sorry. I am busy for the next few weeks."

"France?"

"Hmm, the idea of a treasure hunt does sound romantic. And if the others have agreed, then I will help."

Lastly, America turned to his old guardian. England raised an eyebrow at him and set down his tea

"Well, personally I think it's a waste of time…"

"Aww, please, England?"

The Brit winced as he was forced to stare in the man's pleading puppy-dog eyes which were slowly filling with tears. Part of him wanted to leap up and agree, declaring 'of course, anything for you, America', but he could never admit that. It also tore at his heart as he pictured the little America before him, instead of his grown-up counterpart, and he knew that if America had still been a boy, he wouldn't have even had to ask the question- his assistance would be guaranteed. But these days, America was independent, and never looked at him with the same unquestioning, revering look he had been so fond of when the man had been a child. These days the two of them squabbled and bickered, and it was only in a few rare moments like these that one could witness echoes of the past.

He bit his lip as he gazed into those blue eyes, heart literally torn in two. The moment seemed to last for hours, but was actually only twenty seconds, before he gave a sigh, closed his eyes, rested his chin on his hands and surrendered. "All right then. I'll help you with your half-wit scheme. I do have some experience with this sort of thing, and I have a better idea of what archaeology actually entails, rather than the Indiana Jones style escapade you probably have in mind."

Grinning, America leaned over and punched the green-eyed man's arm, whilst nudging the corner of his hat and whip back under the desk with a toe. England yelped in pain and clutched his arm. "Not so hard you git! I know it's a friendly gesture, but not if you break my arm!"

England reached his left arm around to grasp the American's wrist and pry him off. But as he did so, he leaned forward, and something small and rectangular slipped out of his breast pocket with a soft _thump_. Eyes flicking down, he squeaked, a faint blush highlighting his cheeks, and he released the Yank to grab his possession. Of course, it was just his luck that the American got there first.

"Hey, what're these?"

"Th-those? Nothing. Nothing. They're nothing. Just give them back now, okay?" His voice wavered.

"Hang on a second. Are these_… tarot cards?_"

England relented with a quiet 'Bugger.' "Yes. They're tarot cards. Happy now?"

America looked, much to the Englishman's disappointment, intrigued. "Can we try them out?"

England rolled his eyes and nodded a yes. At this, Romano stood up.

"Look, this is just wasting my time. I'm going. Come on Veneziano."

"Romano-!" Italy protested, but was dragged out of the room by his brother.

Germany turned to Spain. "We should probably go after them."

"If you say so," the Spaniard agreed, and the two men left their seats and followed the Italians out.

"If they are going, I should get going to. I am very busy and have things to do." Japan excused himself with a slightly nervous look and left. Without many words, China followed after.

"Well they're boring," America commented as he watched the last of the departing countries go.

"Let's just get this over with, shall we?" England groaned, spreading the cards out on the table. France leaned in to watch, and America looked on curiously as the Brit divined his fortune. After a few minutes he sat up, biting his knuckle in thought. America leaned in, eyes jumping from one card to another, a little nervous of what the man was going to say.

"Well?"

"Hmm. I can't be one hundred per cent certain, but I think I know what's going to happen. I am well-versed in magic after all."

"_And?_"

"Well, it says that you will receive a sudden windfall. Sometime after that, there will be lust, followed by… hmm, I'm not too sure but it has something to do with water. Family. And then, well… I can't really tell…"

England actually did know what came next, but he wasn't sure how he felt about it, and certainly didn't want to reveal it. He also thought it would be bad for America (or at least the rest of them, who would have to put up with his reaction) if he told him.

_Yes. It definitely isn't a good idea to tell him that the final card signifies love_, he thought.

"I thought you said you were good at magic. How come- Oh! A quarter!"

He bent down, eyes shining, and reached for the shiny coin. At that point, France caught sight of something he liked. Something he really liked. And the Frenchman couldn't help himself. He reached out and grabbed it. It felt remarkably firm.

"Oh hon hon hon…"

"My ass!" America cried out, reeling around. He felt violated. France had groped him! He stared wide eyed at the man, stuck in a state of disbelief. France smiled and waggled his eyebrows. "What the hell?"

"My my, America, your ass is so firm… I may even prefer it to England's…"

America felt his temper rising. Normally he was carefree and enjoyed joking around. He found it funny when France tried to violate England. But this, this was…

So he punched the frog in the face.

"Sacre bleu! My nose!" Crimson blood trickled between France's fingers as he clutched his face. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes, and he squealed in pain. After a moment, as a tear rolled down his cheek, he thrust one arm round and grabbed America by the throat. As the Yank let out a strangled gasp, England decided it was time to intervene.

"Hey now, cut it out!" he called, clambering out of his chair. As he reached out towards them, France's assault caused the pair to stumble back, knocking the Brit into his teapot.

Hot tea pooled over the carpet, staining the floor brown. However, it had not just splashed onto the floor. It had also splashed onto someone else.

Canada cried out as the hot liquid hit his crotch. The three struggling countries all did a double-take as they finally noticed the nation's presence.

"Canada?"

"Maple…" the poor man whimpered as he keeled forwards, crashing into his brother. America yelped as the sudden weight smashed into him, knocking him off balance and sending him bowling into England. Eventually all three of them ended up in a heap on the floor.

England winced and rubbed his head as he regained consciousness. The sudden smack of his head on the floor had caused him to black out for a few seconds, and as he came to, he realised something wasn't quite right. He had been expecting America and/or Canada's weight on top of him, and yes, there was a weight on his body. But that weight was not where he expected it.

Craning his neck up, his eyes focused on the source of the unusual pressure. America was moaning as he recovered from the daze his fall had left him in. England's green eyes widened as he took in the sight. His cheeks burned like a forest fire as they were tinged with red. He stammered and tried to scuttle back and away, but the position of the others wouldn't allow it. At last he settled on yelling at the American.

"Get your bloody head off my crotch!"

ooo

**Date- Wednesday 13****th**** July 2011**

**Location- Rome, Italy**

**Weather- Same as last time. Why would it have changed much during one storytelling?**

"_Ve_! So it all came true then! Now you mention it, big brother France isn't here either, even though he said he would be… How is he doing?"

"He's still recovering."

"Is his nose still bad?"

England chuckled, wiping away more beads of sweat. "Oh his nose healed ages ago. It's his pride he's still nursing. America's punch did more damage to his ego than his face."

Italy laughed. But then he realised that the Brit's story still hadn't quite answered his question. "But that still doesn't explain why America's not here…"

England's mouth formed an 'ah'. He shuffled on the stone he was sat upon. The blush returned very faintly to his cheeks. "Well, you see. He felt really bad for Canada, so he decided to stay at home and nurse him back to health. Although…" He shuffled again. "Personally, I think he's trying to avoid me…"

Italy stared at the man for a long moment. England smiled slightly at the sympathetic look he gave him. Finally, the auburn-haired man spoke.

"You'll patch it up, I know you will. When I look at the two of you, you seem really close. So I know you won't let a little incident like this get in the way of your friendship or whatever ship it is the two of you have."

The Englishman's eyes glittered. He smiled warmly. "Thank you, Italy."

"No problem. Hey, why don't we go and get some pasta?"


	3. Canada's Birthday

_A/N- Ah, Red Dwarf reference! Points to those who spot that; I couldn't resist. Anyhow, hello everyone! Welcome to oneshot no. 3! I wanted to write a story featuring France and Canada prominently, and this is how it turned out. It's... different... to how I planned it. But I'm pleased with it anyway- I much prefer it to the last one._

_Thank you to my reviewers! You people are the most awesome in the world! I've taken everything you said on-board (I hope), and you inspired me to write more of this! Thank you!_

_For once I have included a few notes at the end of the fic. Please take time to read them and, if you'd like to, click the little 'review' button too. Please? Pasta~!_

_Enjoy!_

ooo

**Canada's Birthday**

England's Journal

_Dear Diary,_

_Yesterday was Canada's birthday. It took me a little while to realise why I had circled July 1__st__ on my calendar that morning, but as soon as I remembered at half-one I immediately phoned up to give him my best wishes. I was a little surprised to hear that France was already over there, but I was more surprised when the pair of them invited me out drinking. I gather it was France's idea, Canada didn't have much say in the matter, and I also gather that America forgot until he was called. Apparently it then took them thirty minutes to remind him who Canada was, at which point he replied, 'Oh man, what a bummer- tell Canadia I'm sorry but I'm busy pimping my hot rod.' What that means is beyond me; I only hope that 'pimping my hot rod' is not a euphemism for anything. Unless he tries it with France- that might at least keep the bugger from trying to invade my vital regions for a couple of hours._

_So the three of us- France, Canada and I- went to a good old-fashioned pub (I put my foot down when the suggestion of visiting a wine bar was made, or the strip club). I ordered myself a pint of bitter; another beer for Canada and France bought himself champagne. The conversation began rather pleasantly; we discussed Canada's birthday presents and any other plans he had, then France ordered us all another round. That went rather well too, but by the time we had gotten to my round of drinks, things had started to get… err… a little 'interesting'…_

ooo

"I was heartbroken once…" a dishevelled Englishman groaned into his sleeve, head on the bar. "It was horrible… I felt like a litter tray inside…"

"Full of shit?" France queried, trying to translate from Drunk England into Sober England to follow what the man was saying.

"Yeah…"

"Are you sure it was heartbreak and not your cooking?"

"Bugger off…"

Canada sighed and sipped his beer as he watched the two rivals bicker. True to form they had promptly forgotten about him and he had seemed to cease to exist, even though it was his birthday. When at last he had reached the bottom of his glass, he set it down and asked for another.

"Huh, sorry? Who are you again?" the barkeeper asked as he filled the man's glass.

"I'm Canada…"

"Huh?"

"Never mind…"

The sound of British cursing filled the air as England sloppily tried to pay back France for whatever comment he'd just made.

"Deos imprecor! Interficte! Die bastard, die!"

France looked at the man wryly. "Did you just try to curse me in Latin?"

"Avada kedavra!"

ooo

_Needless to say, this only turned out to be the beginning of my problems for the night. _

_I do not know all of the details of the events that followed. I have only vague recollections of staggering out of the pub, followed closely by an alcohol-uninhibited France and a vague shimmer in the air I assume was Canada. The next few minutes are a blur, but I must have led us to some sort of store because the next thing I remember was a rather embarrassing scene with the birthday boy…_

ooo

"Y'know what I bet…?" a rather tipsy Brit slurred, a small trickle of drool slithering down his chin and forming a damp patch of his beer-stained shirt. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck and the top three buttons of his shirt had been ripped off, leaving his collarbone and a good quarter of his chest visible.

"What do you bet?" France asked with a chuckle, eyeing up the drunken man and judging what he could get away with. His fingers tightened around the wine bottle he was carrying as he tried to suppress a snigger.

"I bet… I c'n chug a whole bottle of maple syrup… for Canada!"

Canada looked surprised at this outburst. "You don't have to do that for me! No! You should go home and rest, England. You're clearly intoxicated…"

"You can't stop me, Canada! I'm doing this f'r you! I can chug a whole buttle of marple syrup! J'st you witch me!"

"Uh, France, do you think we should stop him?"

The Frenchman rubbed his chin as he studied England and contemplated. "Best to leave him alone I think. He'll never listen to us like this so we can't stop him. Besides-" He grinned. "-you never know, something fun might happen!"

Canada looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway. The pair of them watched as England staggered into a nearby shop, mumbling about feeding unicorns. A few minutes later he exited, catching his foot on the edge of the mat and splatting into a puddle.

"D'n't w'rry- I g't t' map' s'r'p!"

"What did he say?" Canada asked the other (relatively) sober member of the group.

"Uh, I think he said, 'Don't worry- I got the maple syrup'."

"Now I j'st gotta chug t' bottle!" the drunkard stated with a proud grin, holding the bottle aloft like a trophy as he wobbled to his feet and zigzagged over, wiping a streak of mud and god-knows-what-else off his cheek.

"What do you know?" France commented as he watched the man attempt to open the lid. "England's northern half shows when he is drunk."

Canada raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, not understanding what France meant. He was about to ask when England succeeded in prizing off the lid and held the bottle to his lips.

"Here I go!" he declared, a manic grin on his face and a crazy glint in his eye. Clamping his mouth around the bottle neck, he tipped his head back in one swift, snapping movement, and proceeded to chug the contents, his throat bobbing as he swallowed repeatedly. As the amount of syrup in the container steadily decreased, Canada felt the bile in his throat rising. Tugging his eyes away from the sight for a brief moment, he caught a glance of France's wicked grin as the Frenchman pulled a small camera out of his pocket and proceeded to snap a photo.

The big problem came thirty seconds later, as England finished the bottle. Pulling it away from his mouth, he absentmindedly dropped it to the ground as his eyes struggled to focus. France and Canada watched, seconds dragging out, as he swayed from side to side, trying to gauge his reaction.

"S'not bad… See… I told you… I could do it…"

And with that he lurched forwards, torso heaving, as he grasped onto Canada's shoulders and threw up over the man's front.

"AHHH!" the Canadian cried out as he tried to pull away. France succeeded in grabbing England from behind and dragging him away as he finished puking.

"Much… better…" the bedraggled blond murmured from his hated neighbour's grasp. Canada looked down at himself, dripping with vomit, holding his arms out at the sides.

"Maple…" he whimpered, eyes filling with tears.

"Now now, Canada," France began as he saw the man begin to cry. "Don't be upset. Your birthday is not ruined yet. All we have to do is get you out of those stinky clothes and all will be well."

"But… what if he does it again?" Canada sniffed as a chunk of carrot plopped onto the ground.

France gave him a half smile, a mixture of reassurance and devilish scheming in his eyes. "I don't think he will; his stomach is empty. But if you are really worried, then I will do my best to make sure he won't."

"Thank you," Canada replied, smiling.

"No problem. Now, come on. I know where we can sort out your clothes."

ooo

_Again, my haphazard memory of last night cuts out at this point. I do not remember where France took us, or how he prevented my barfing. I can, however, make a few assumptions, based on what I discovered the following morning…_

ooo

A low groan echoed around the room as England awoke. The first thing he did before he opened his eyes was to rub his head. It was pounding and felt like a dozen workmen with drills were beating at his skull. The second thing he did was snuggle into the sheets. As his hand had left the safety of the covers to nurse his temples it had been exposed to the bitter cold of the room. The third thing he did was realise that this was quite strange, given the fact that it was July. Finally he opened his eyes as a light breeze ruffled his hair. Blinking drowsily, he caught sight of a fan on the bedside table, next to a bottle of- he couldn't make out the words, not yet anyway. As he pushed himself up with one arm, he realised that his whole body was aching all over, particularly his lower half. Groaning again, he twisted round until he was sat up properly in the bed.

"Urgh… What happened to me last night?"

That was when his foot nudged something. Reaching under the covers, he felt for what it was. Startled as his fingertips brushed against it, he grabbed hold of it and pulled up hard.

"What the hell am I doing with a traffic cone? !"

A murmur and a soft creaking came from nearby as a figure rolled over and crawled up.

"Not so loud, England… My head hurts…"

"Canada? !"

"Oh hon hon hon…" came the overjoyed chuckle of France as he propped himself up in between them. "Good morning, _mes chéris_…"

England did a double take. Followed by a triple take. Then he gulped. Eyes widening as several very likely possibilities for the events of the previous night entered his mind, he slowly looked down.

He was naked.

Very slowly, he turned his head back towards the bedside table and the small bottle he'd been unable to read earlier. Yep. That confirmed his suspicions.

"I hope you enjoyed your birthday, Canada." France was chattering to the other man as if everything was normal.

England turned his head back round. "France?"

The man in question looked over, a tiny smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. "Yes, England?"

"Prepare to die."

THE END.

ooo

_A/N- Hello again! Just a few notes on things mentioned in the story, if you didn't understand them._

_ France refers to the North of England. Couldn't resist that, it's the part I'm from. Yorkshire born and bred. (Soooooo happy when my county got mentioned in Kuroshitsuji!) It is a stereotype that people from the north of England say t' instead of the. I don't, but a few do. Mostly those with a strong accent. (My own is watered down somewhat due to my proximity to the major city of Leeds.)_

_The Latin that England says means: "I invoke the gods! Kill!" I took Latin for GCSE and got an A. Still didn't prevent me having to spend an hour double-checking my grammar and vocabulary, having burnt all my Latin notes in a glorious fire once my exams were over. Similarly, the French which France uses means "My darlings". Once again, A* in French- twenty minutes on an online translator... (I'm such a failure...)_

_Once again, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. I personally reply to every review, if you wish to leave feedback. I always appreciate comments on my work. See you next time (hopefully)!_


	4. France's Fantasies

_A/N- Hi again! Sorry it's been a few days since I last updated- I'm back at school now, so I have less time to write. Part of this was written in the note function of my iPod touch during break! Just a warning- I might update less often in future, because I am back at school, and it's now only a few months until my AS exams (eep!). Anyway, this oneshot was partly inspired by an idea in a Horrible Science book I read as a kid and always wished was real. I had a lot of fun trying to write the last section, although it may seem a little rushed, and I'm sorry about that, as I need to get to bed early and I really want to get this up tonight! (I'm speed typing this author's note!)_

_I hope you enjoy reading this! And if you like it, feel free to leave a little review. I always like to know what you think and which parts you like/dislike; it helps me tailor my comedy better! Have fun!_

ooo

**France's Fantasies**

ooo

Once again, the world conference had convened. The assembled nations sat bickering, as always, in their designated chairs around a large circular table. England sat with his hands clasped together on the polished oak surface, glaring daggers at France while simultaneously rebuking Sealand (who had whined until England brought him along) for etching 'England is a jerk' into the expensive wood. Italy was trying out his 'hug therapy' on his brother again, while Ukraine distracted several of the surrounding male nations with her boob bounce. In fact, Austria would have considered utilising the unique noise they made in one of his compositions, had the demonic aura emanating from Russia, and the terrifyingly eerie chant of 'kolkolkol' not made him run for the restroom.

"SILENCE!" bellowed Germany, slamming both of his palms down on the table. Every one of the squabbling, infantile countries ceased talking. England released the shirt collars of both France and Sealand.

"Now then, if there are to be no more outbursts…" he glared daggers at some of the more notorious Western European countries. "We can begin the meeting."

The blond nodded over to America, who had been previously occupying himself with a small mountain of hamburgers. At the German's signal, he quickly swallowed the bite had been chewing and stood up, food still in hand.

"Alright everyone! Let's get this meeting rolling! Now then, I want to present to everyone here the super awesome new invention that my crack team of scientists came up with! I give you… The Dream Recorder!"

At this cue, the doors to the room swung open, and Canada wheeled in what looked like an old square TV set on a trolley with a VCR underneath. The set itself was painted yellow, with various strange curly wires in an assortment of colours sticking out from various places within the structure. The Yank's brother left it beside him and sat down in the only untaken seat at the table, not that anyone noticed.

"When he said 'crack team', I hadn't assumed that's what they'd been on," England commented, just loud enough for the whole room to hear.

"Dream Recorder?" Italy murmured, his mind flashing back to his dreams of the world revolving around the Axis, as well as the one where Germany and Japan hated him. "That sounds..."

"It sounds like total bullshit; which is exactly what it is!" Romano interrupted, squeezing the tomato he'd been about to eat. The shiny skin cracked, and watery tomato juice trickled down between his fingers.

"Hey now, give it a try before you condemn it!" America protested. His blue eyes showed a glimmer of hurt, but his zesty personality bounced him right back. "I'll show you it works!"

Without allowing anyone a chance to protest, he grabbed a couple of sensors lying by the TV set, wired up to the machine. Giving no warning, he shoved them onto the nearest nation's head with a soft _shlop_.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? !" England shrieked, wriggling in the American's now firm grasp around his torso as he tried to rip the offending objects from his scalp. He yelped as he tugged his head to one side and almost ripped out half of his blond mop. "They're caught in my hair! Get them out now, you git!"

"Canada, hit the machine!" America yelled, causing his sibling to leap from his chair and slam down a lever attached to the VCR.

All of a sudden, a fizzling, crackling sound filled the room, followed by a small shower of sparks from the TV set. The screen glowed faintly, and the whole device seemed to throb. In his chair, England cried out, gasping as his vision went white. The VCR whirred, and a strange hum drifted from it. Several countries ducked under the table. Italy whimpered and grabbed Germany in a vice-like hug.

About a minute later, after the violent jerking England's body was undergoing had almost thrown America off, the strange noises died down, and the poor man hooked up to the machine finally settled. The device gave a final spark before it, too, ceased to move.

America glanced across at the screen, checking it was all-clear, before he let go of his 'big brother' and wrenched the sensors from his hair. The green-eyed man seemed too out of it to care anymore.

A few of the braver countries popped their heads back up from below their oaken shield. Germany finally prized Italy from off his front, only to discover the huddled figure of Romano had been clinging to him from behind as well.

"Where am I, mummy?" England whimpered as his head spun. He felt as though he had been put through the wringer. And the oven. And the washing machine. All at once.

America banged on the TV box a few times with his fist. "That's strange…" he muttered. "Normally they don't pass out like that… Or dance around. What could have happened?"

After a few more whacks, the screen flared into life. On it appeared a menu consisting of a long vertical list of dates with the top option highlighted in an orange-yellow box. Grinning, America pulled a large, chunky remote control out of his pocket and proceeded to jab the largest and central button. The remote itself looked more like the sort of thing used to operate the elevator in a mine or similar venue, and once it had been poked, caused the TV to display a large image of a country mansion with play, fast forward, rewind, next scene and previous scene symbols along the bottom.

"Sweet!" America cheered, getting ready to hit the play button on his controller.

"Hang on a second, America!" one of the countries called. It appeared to be Lithuania, although it was hard to tell, as the most anyone could see of any given country besides America, England, Canada and France was the top of their head. "What did you just do?"

"Huh?" America asked, clearly bemused by how someone could not know what he'd just done. It didn't occur to him that he'd never told anyone what the device actually did, only giving them its name. "I just turned it on."

"Yes… but…" Lithuania poked his nose up over the edge of the table, gazing worriedly at the strange machine. "What did it do?"

"Oh, you mean with all the sparking? It copied England's dreams and stored them in its hard drive."

"His… dreams?" Russia asked, sticking up his head with cleverly concealed evil interest.

"Yeah, sure. Now we can watch them on the TV. I kinda asked my guys to invent it 'cause I got sick of forgetting all the totally awesome dreams I keep having."

"Wait a second!" England interjected, sitting bolt upright in his chair. He seemed to have gotten over the worst of his rough treatment already. "You're not showing anyone my dreams! And you're not watching them yourself either! Bugger off!"

"Hahaha! Nope! I wanna see what you dream about!"

As England dived for the controller, America shoved one finger down on the play button, and as the Yank was dragged to the floor by his British 'ally', England's latest dream began to play.

"_Tum tee tum… tum tee tum… Ahhhhhhh, bathing in a hot cup of tea… There's nothing quite like it… Ah, Sealand! Pass me the loofah, would you? There's a good chap… Ahhhhh… Bliss."_

England turned redder than Romano's tomato. "Get it off!" he screeched, wrestling with America for the remote. As he finally succeeded in dislodging it from the American's hand, he was off-balanced, and his elbow planted itself firmly onto the 'ERASE ALL' button.

The screen showed static for a brief moment, and then went blank.

"Aww man, now look what you've done!" America complained as he hauled himself to his feet. England dragged himself up too, squaring his shoulders and preparing to verbally insult the blue-eyed wanker.

As he opened his mouth to shout, he was cut off by a distinctly amphibious voice.

"Now now, everyone, let's not start fighting, shall we? _Mon dieu_, we do not need any more wars around here! While it was_… highly amusing_…" He sniggered. "…to watch England's… uh… _fantasies_… perhaps we should consider trying it on somebody else?"

England raised a bushy eyebrow. "Oh yes? And who would _you_ suggest we try it on?"

France smirked. "Why, myself, of course."

That seemed to take half the room by surprise. "You? !"

France nodded, gracefully rising up from his chair and striding over to the TV, not forgetting to flick his hair over his shoulder in one fluid movement as he went. It was the little finishing touches like that which separated him from the crowd.

The self-proclaimed master of love picked up the sensors and carefully attached them to himself. Reaching a hand over, he flicked the lever which activated the device.

Everyone in the room ducked.

Nothing happened.

Well, at least, nothing catastrophic. No sparks. No flames. No crackling. And most definitely no France writhing in pain. England was disappointed.

A few moments later, the screen lit up with small ping, and France detached the equipment.

"There now, that is now you do it. It must have been your terrible British dreams, England. It seems even this machine cannot stomach your cooking."

England's eyes narrowed. "Now listen here, frog! Just because in that one dream my roast beef came out blue does not mean-" He was restrained by Canada before he could punch the Frenchman's lights out.

"Maple! Please stop fighting!"

France sighed. "Canada is right. Now then, we shall see some better dreams, _non?_ I have one that I have been simply _dying_ to show everyone…"

"Wish you would die…" England muttered as France picked up the remote and pressed the play button.

The screen went dark.

"I can't see anything," Latvia complained, but France shushed him.

"You will see in a minute, _mon chérie_."

A red tinge spread across the screen. Finally some figures came into view. They seemed rather… active.

England's face paled. "Is that… me?"

"And me…" Canada added.

"Me too…" America thirded.

"I am there as well…" Greece said softly.

"It seems a lot of the countries are there…" commented Latvia.

England's face turned a pale shade of green. "Did I just…?"

"Did you just…?" America glanced slowly at the blond.

"France did you…?" Canada queried, jaw hanging slack.

The sound of a moan vibrated from the speakers of the TV. Germany's eyes widened. Italy gaped while Romano seemed stunned speechless. Austria shuffled away, trying to move as close to the back of the room as possible. Even Spain looked a little pallid. Hungary smiled slightly.

"Did he just put his… into England's…" Finland tried to say, while pointing a finger half-heartedly at the screen.

Japan covered Sealand's eyes.

When the video came to an end, France surveyed them all, grinning cheekily.

"So, what did you all think?"

"Somebody pass me a shotgun," England demanded.


	5. Prussia's Awesomeness

_A/N- Wow it's been ages since I last wrote anything! Actually, I'm lucky to even have the time today to write, but I really wanted to post some more, so I ploughed my way through writer's block with my Hetalia DVD and managed to force this out. It's not as good as usual, but I hope it's at least a little bit funny._

_So yeah, it's titled Prussia's Awesomeness, but it's more about England and America. I've been playing the new Pokemon Black recently (just beat the last gym!) which is why this oneshot is rather... poke-infested. I do apologise. But, yeah, enjoy, and watch out for some bad language in this fic (though there has been in every one of these oneshots anyway). And if you want to, review! Reviews make writers happy. They are like plushies to us. Or me. Plushies make me happy, anyway._

_Disclaimer- I no own Hetalia or Pokemon. I have a copy of Pokemon Black, but the franchise- not mine. (I started with the otter one!)_

**Hetalia Oneshot**

**Prussia's Awesomeness**

ooo

The door swung shut with a clang, the wooden fibres creaking with the force of its impact against the frame. The man strode away from the room, leaving behind a stack of old, unshelved tomes. A faint cloud of dust settled in the abandoned library, stirred by the man's irritation.

"Hmph, stupid idiots. I'll show them just how awesome I am…" he muttered as he marched purposefully towards the door, grasping a coat and tugging it on mid-stride as he left the house. As he slammed the front door shut, a little yellow chick fluttered down and landed on his head, although he was far too caught up in his huff to notice.

As the red-eyed man blurred past a small clearing, Italy glanced up.

"Huh? I wonder what's up with Prussia…?" he pondered, setting down his paint brush. His eyes followed the older nation quizzically as he stormed off in the direction of some of the other European countries.

Suddenly, a loud _mrrrrow_ caught his attention. The little tabby he'd been painting while it slept curled up amidst the spring grass had decided to stretch and wander off. All he spotted was the swish of its tail as it disappeared into the bushes.

"No! Come back kitty!" Italy wailed, dropping his pallet and chasing the feline through the shrubbery, arms flailing around his head.

ooo

"Dude! Awesome! I just totally kicked this guy's ass!"

A vein throbbed in England's forehead as he pricked his finger with his cross-stitching needle. America's constant button-mashing was wearing on his nerves. Damn git! Why couldn't he play that at his own house?

"Sweet! Now I get to beat up this guy too!"

More blood trickled out of England's finger.

"Hahahahaha! Take that dude!"

A fist clenched.

"Aww heck yeah! England, look! This guy just totally lost to me!"

"I SWEAR TO GOD, AMERICA, IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP RIGHT THIS MINUTE I'LL LET YOU FIND OUT JUST HOW MUCH OF BIG BEN WILL FIT UP YOUR ASS!"

America froze. His eyes glittered as they welled up. His lower lip trembled slightly.

England stopped in his tracks, staring at the puppy-eyed nation. The only sound that he could muster was a faint, "Uh…uh…" Words failed him. After a moment, he tensed and clenched his teeth, averting his eyes to the table.

"I'm sorry, America. That was… uncalled for."

The blue-eyed country looked surprised.

"Really?"

England nodded.

"Awesome! You actually apologised to me!"

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," England grunted, a faint tinge of humiliation flushing in his cheeks.

The two paused for a moment as neither individual could think of something to say, before America suddenly blurted out, "Hey, England! You should totally play this game too! I know you'd be good at it!"

The tea-drinker looked slightly baffled. One eyebrow migrated up his forehead. "What is that you're playing, anyway?"

"This?" America held up his DS. "I was just playing Pokémon. Dude, you have to try it!"

England looked sceptical, but couldn't protest as America threw a game case at him. It smacked him in the face with an audible crunch. "Git," the Brit muttered as he bent down and picked the box up. He turned it over and read the blurb on the back. It sounded… interesting.

"You want me to teach you how to play?" America offered, already back to tapping at the console screen with his stylus.

"I think I can work it out…" England declined, already mildly intrigued.

ooo

_One hour later…_

"Take that Jigglypuff, you pink wanker! That'll teach you to use Sing! I can carry a tune better than you any day, git!"

America shot a glance over at his friend, who was already absorbed in the game he'd been given. They'd barely been playing together for an hour, but already England was on his second gym badge. Maybe the green-eyed man was _too_ good. At this rate, his team might get stronger than America's own, and the Yank couldn't let that happen. After all, he was the hero…

"Oh well…" America shrugged and returned to his own game as England gave a loud cry of,

"Fuck you Marill! I'll show you what happens when you faint my Cyndaquil! Attack Pikachu! ….. Heh, that's right, Marill. Die… Die like the little blue thing you are… Muahahahahahaha…. Y'know, this game would be even better if you had a black magic attack…"

"Or you could knock them out with some of your cooking," America chuckled as he sent his sprite running through some tall grass. All of a sudden, the screen flickered and he was launched into a battle.

"Huh? Another battle? That's like, the fourteenth one in five minutes! Oh well… China- I mean, Feraligatr, I choose you!"

If England hadn't been so caught up in his game, he would've rolled his eyes. As it was, he repeatedly smashed at the A button with his thumb in the vain hope that it would increase his chances of having the damn squirrel-thing get in his pokéball. The stupid thing didn't know how to stay in captivity.

Meanwhile, Prussia had come marching, still in his huff, to the front door. Much to his awesome surprise, he found as he turned the handle that it was unlocked. Of course, only Prussia would try someone's front door before knocking. Now puzzled, he pushed it open and stepped inside. Noises were drifting down the hall from somewhere deeper within.

As he was so awesome, Prussia decided that it would be fine for him to go investigate. Creeping down the hallway, he stopped outside the door from which the voices emanated, as the little bird alighted from his head. Titling his head to one side, he pressed his ear to the wood.

"Ah!"

"Oof!"

"Come on come on come on come on! Get in there!"

"Yes! Take that!"

"Just do it already!"

"Urr… what do I use…?"

"Damn! I'm down to my last ball!"

Prussia edged away from the door. That had been… awkward. Perhaps it would be better if he spared them his awesomeness for another day. China always had cute stuff at his house. Maybe he should go there instead? Yes. That was definitely a good idea. He would go to China's house. Right now.

Prussia fled.

Inside the room, England slammed his fist on the table. "Damn! It got away!"


	6. England's Trains

_A/N- Hello again! Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've been bogged down with physics coursework (thankfully that's now out of the way!) and then fanfiction decided to not let me access my edit story area. Luckily I've discovered a workaround to access the 'add new chapter' page, so I can post again! Woohoo! Oh yeah, this chapter started out great, but I'm too tired to put as much effort into finishing it... I just had to sit a 3 hour English Language mock exam so I'm worn out... but I didn't want to leave this unposted any longer. And I'm making pancakes tonight! Yay!_

_Anyway, please read, review if you want, and pray to God that the Hetalia calendar I ordered doesn't turn out to actually be a marriage registration form. Adieu!_

_Disclaimer- If Hetalia was mine, the closing credits to the movie would be the closing credits to every episode- I love that dance! But it's not. Boo._

**England's Trains**

The blond yawned as he slouched back in the cold, hard seat. Crossing his legs, he felt his eyes begin to drift close. They felt heavy and ached as if they'd blinked solidly for twenty four hours. His mouth slackened slightly, and he knew for certain that he was about to fall asleep. The trials of the last day had certainly taken their toll on him; endless squabbling, ranting and sighing at the stupidity of others was more tiring than you'd think. Shielding his eyes with the back of his forearm from the glare of the indoor lighting, he gave up his struggle and allowed his eyes to fall shut.

"Wake up you stupid _crétin_! Do you want to miss our train?"

The world swung back as forth as his body was shaken violently. Gloved fingers grasped around his shoulders and his neck hurt from the jarring force. His mouth fell open and a cry of "Uwaaah!" escaped from it. Green eyes snapped open, gazing in surprised terror at the man whose hands had been gripping his shoulders for an unnecessary amount of time, and whose fingers did appear to be subtly trying to grope him.

"GET THE HELL OFF ME, YOU WANKER!"

France pulled back, startled by the loud noise emitted from the furious Englishman. His precious locks swayed before his eyes as he blinked in astonishment at the now red-faced, writhing mass in his grip. It felt like an eternity as England squirmed and wriggled in his seat, cursing France, the French and everything to do with his most hated country, before the Brit finally calmed down and sat still, chest heaving and green eyes glaring daggers as he glowered up at the blue-eyed country.

"One of these days I swear I'm going to kill you, git." The Englishman's voice was monotone as he glared down the frog.

It took a few moments for France to respond. He wasn't quite sure how to react. Sure he was used to England's grumpiness and death threats, but looking at how exhausted the man seemed, he couldn't tell if this time would be the final straw or not. Eventually, after was seemed like years of internal debate, he settled upon his reply.

Grasping England's shoulder with one hand, he met his gaze eye-to-eye. A tiny, perverted grin cracked the corner of his mouth, and his eyebrows waggled suggestively. "Oh come on, England. You know you like it…"

"Bugger off!"

With a sigh, the Englishman batted away the frog-eater and stood up, brushing down his trousers. Turning around, he adjusted his bags to make sure they would stand alone, and were close enough to France for no-one to think to steal them, before he angled himself in the direction of the departures board a few metres away and set about pacing over. He took relatively long strides, and in a matter of half a minute was viewing the list of trains and platforms. His French companion watched him study the board with a mixture of sadness and curiosity. He seemed to have upset the Englishman with his antics, and while it was always a laugh to see England get flustered, part of him hated it when it drove the man off, even if was only a matter of metres away.

Meanwhile, green eyes were still roving down the mass of orange electronic letters. England muttered the list to himself under his breath as he read, mouth moving quickly as his eyes scanned the board. His hands were firmly shoved into his pockets against the chill of the breeze channelling down the platform and his cheeks were still tinged faintly with pink from his humiliation at the hands of the wine git mere moments previously.

"Eighteen fifty-two. Edinburgh. Platform 8. On time. Eighteen fifty-five. Newcastle. 7b. On time. Eighteen fifty-seven. York. 16a. On time. Aha! Nineteen oh-one. London Kings Cross… Cancelled! What? !"

His eyes widened in surprise, and he felt his temper rising. In his pockets, his fists clenched. From the safety of his seat, France's eyes glittered as he recognised all too well the familiar signs of an England who was about to throw a tantrum.

"When's the next train to London then? … Eight o'clock! That's over an hour away! … And that's cancelled too! This is just- When's the next one after that…? Nine. On time… So I've got to wait two bloody hours! This is ridiculous! It's a bloody shambles! Those stupid wankers at the rail company can't be arsed to-"

He stopped, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers to his temples. Breathe in. And out. In. And out. Deep breaths. Calm down. Getting all worked up would get him nowhere. Besides, he was the United Kingdom. He knew that half the time his trains were late. They were part of his country! Looking up, he took note of the platform –same as the one they were currently on- and headed back to France.

He returned to his seat in silence, not even glancing at the Frenchman. After a few minutes, he spoke.

"Two hours," he informed him, despite the fact he was certain that the blond had heard his yells.

France nodded, doing his best to stifle a smirk. Keeping his eyes trained on the advertisement posted up in front of him, he contended himself with watching the Brit out of the corner of his eye.

They sat like that in silence for a whole five minutes, each of them itching to say something, but each too proud to speak and admit that they needed the company. Finally, going crazy with boredom (his bags only contained files and documents from meetings, all of the boring as hell) England opened his mouth to speak.

"Just bloody say something already!" he snapped, eyes darting harshly to the blue-eyed blond.

"Why, _Angleterre_, I didn't know you needed me so much…" France cooed, fluttering his eyelashes.

England's face flushed scarlet. He was redder than one of his post boxes.

"I don't need at all, you wine bastard! I just don't want to sit here for two hours with nothing to do!"

"We could play 'eye spy'…"

"No way in hell. Anyone who suggests playing eye spy should be shot."

France looked mock-hurt. "Even dearest _moi_?"

"_Especially_ 'dearest' you."

France pouted but dropped it. There was only so much you could goad England on before he would refusing everything altogether.

"Well then, how should we pass the time?"

"I don't know. _You_ think of something."

"Hmm…" France crossed his legs and rested on elbow on his hand, leaning his chin on his palm in thought and lightly stroking his cheek. "Why don't you tell me a story? Something that happened while I was not around? That way I can learn more about you."

"I know the sort of things you'd like to learn about me, and there's no way you're ever finding them out."

"Oh, silly England. You're such a pervert."

"You can talk."

"Just tell me a story, okay?"

England gave a sigh of resignation. "Fine. I'll tell you about the time I got dragged round to America's to play video games…"

ooo

"Awesome dude! I can't believe I got you to agree to play on my Xbox with me!" America beamed, turning on his controller.

England sighed, switching his own controller on. "I hardly call emotional blackmail a fair tactic."

"But it worked, didn't it?"

The Brit rolled his eyes.

"Okay, just lemme put my username in…" America mumbled, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he frowned and fumbled with the controller, trying to insert a miniature keyboard into the base.

England facepalmed. "Why don't you just enter it on the screen? And I thought those things signed you in automatically anyway."

"They do but I accidentally logged out earlier."

"Idiot."

"Alright then!" America grinned, brushing off the Englishman's last comment like crumbs from a sofa. Pushing his glasses back up his nose a bit, he smiled widely at his former carer before turning his attention back to the screen and tapping his username in on his keyboard.

England couldn't help but smile a little back. Damn, America's happiness was contagious at times. He too, glanced back to the screen, reading his 'little brother's' username as he typed it in.

"Pro… rapid… ve- ven- ven- … What the hell does that say? !"

"Prorapidvenomzsniperznoscopes," America replied as if nothing seemed wrong.

England just stared confusedly at the screen. On it, America had entered Pr0-RaP1d-V3n0mZ-Sn1P3rZ-n0-Sc0p3zzz.

"Say it a little slower…?" he asked, still trying to wrap his brain around the horribly confusing combination of characters and digits.

"Pro. Rapid. Venomz. Sniperz. No. Scopes."

"And what the bloody hell's that when it's at home then?"

"I dunno." America shrugged. "I just made it up."

England stared at the blue-eyed American, baffled.

Sometimes he wondered about the world. He really did.

ooo

"Well, that was certainly entertaining," France commented sarcastically as England finished his story.

"Oh I'm sorry," the Brit huffed, folding his arms and frowning. "I didn't know you wanted to be _entertained._"

"That was the whole idea of this storytelling_, non_? Besides, I was hoping for a story with a little more spice to it- a little more _ooh la la_…"

"Piss off."

It seemed certain that the two were about to start squabbling again. Fortunately for everyone nearby, England's phone chose that exact moment to ring.

"Blast all," the Brit cussed, looking at the caller ID. "What does that bloody America want now."

Fumbling to flip his phone open, he held it up to his ear, shot a warning look at France, and then answered.

"Yes?"

The Frenchman looked on as the Englishman seemed to listen to something. There was what seemed to be a lengthy explanation of their circumstances, followed by a lot of nodding and 'mm-hmm'ing. Finally, England's expression turned downright surprised. With a final, "Okay then," he hung up, arm slowly dropping to his side as he turned his head to look at France. His expression was completely bewildered.

"That was America…" he said, voice rendered monotone with shock. "He accidentally knocked a pylon down onto the London line not far out from this station with his plane, and he wants to know if we'd like a lift in it…"

_A/N- Hi again! By the way, Pr0-RaP1d-V3n0mZ-Sn1P3rZ-n0-Sc0p3zzz was supposed to be one word without the dashes, but ffn wouldn't let me put that for some reason, so pretend the dashes aren't there, please?_


	7. America's Pastimes

_A/N- Oh gosh! I'm so sorry it's been ages since I last updated this! I've been so busy preparing for exams, and I've had the worst case of writer's block ever too! It was only after I got my first biology exam out of the way today and the guilt at not writing built up to epic proportions that I was actually able to force myself to write something. That and this is the first time in weeks a semi-decent and/or roughly complete storyline has come to me. Please forgive me!_

_Okay, notes. If you're interested in and/or don't know about some of the things mentioned in this fic, I'll put up a list at the end of what and how to find them._

_Also- WARNING- mild shounen-ai ahead! Don't like, skip this one._

_Disclaimer- I don't own Hetalia. If I did, there would be even more stripping._

**America's Pastimes**

_Sirens blazed out over the town as a dark shadow raced over the rooftops. With feline elegance it darted across the gaps between houses, speeding away, prize in hand._

"_Stop him! I want that man caught!" a greying police officer yelled, face blazing red with anger. There was no way in hell he was letting this phantom thief get away this time._

_The ethereal shadow flicked his head back, sapphire eyes glinting in the moonlight as his desert-coloured hair whipped about his mask and he flashed a cocky grin at his pursuers. His smile turned almost predatory as he shifted his bodyweight and leapt another gap, landing surefootedly on the next roof and clutching his ill-gotten reward firmly._

_There was no chance of them catching the Phantom Artist tonight._

**ooo**

England shut his book with a sigh, tucking his hand-embroidered bookmark between the pages. Just how long was that oaf going to take? He shot the Yank a disapproving look as the hamburger-lover clicked away on his laptop. He'd said he just wanted to check his e-mails and he'd only be five minutes.

That was an hour and a half ago.

"Pfft…" America cracked up, grinning sickeningly at the screen. England twitched in surprise at the sudden reaction, almost dropping his novel on the floor. With an intentionally loud _thump_, he placed the tome on a nearby table and strode, chest puffed up for maximum intimidation, over to the Yank.

"Just what the bloody hell do you think you're playing at? !" he snapped, ripping the cord of America's headphones out of the socket. Music and strange noises began to echo around the room as the machine switched over to its speakers.

"Huh?" America asked in puzzlement, slipping his headphones off his head. They were an overly-large black pair with a ridiculous amount of unnecessary gold decoration, if you asked England. If you asked America, he'd say they were stylish.

"You were supposed to be checking your e-mails. How the bloody hell does that take you over an hour, you damn wanker? !"

"Oh, sorry England. France sent me a link to this video so I went to check it out. I must've got distracted by all the things popping up in the suggestions box."

England sighed and rolled his eyes. _Of course he got distracted_.

"Just what are you watching now anyway?"

The Brit flicked his cold emerald eyes to the screen, already preparing a snide remark to roll off his tongue. On the laptop, strange little cloud-like figures danced and cheered.

"This?" America replied. "_Rejected Cartoons_. It was in my recommendations. It's hilarious."

England cocked a bushy eyebrow as he continued watching. All of a sudden, he felt a little sick.

"Is that-?"

America started to crack up.

The video played on.

Soon America was rolling around in hysterics. England couldn't quite bring himself to tear his eyes from the screen, caught up in a mixture of repulsion and bafflement.

"'_FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY MY ANUS IS BLEEDING!'"_

America couldn't breathe anymore, he was laughing so hard. England just stared.

"That… is sick," he declared, leaning over and seizing the mouse to pause the video.

"Aww c'mon dude, that was hilarious!" America argued, clutching his gut. A tear trickled from one eye as he began to cry with laughter.

"No. That was just wrong."

America rolled his eyes as he brushed the moisture from them with the back of one finger, his other hand lifting up his glasses. Leaning back in his swivelling office chair, he retorted, "You just have no sense of humour."

England glared at the man, the fires of Hades beginning to sizzle and dance, rising from the embers like a phoenix, in his eyes. The two gazes locked for a long moment, fiery plumes of anger warring with cold mocking blue, before the Englishman silently surrendered, unwilling to have another fight with his ex-colony, and turned his gaze away.

America blinked curiously for a moment, partially unable to comprehend why the light blond had diverted his eyes to the floor. After a few seconds however, his brain decided that trying to comprehend why England did anything was too much like hard work, and started sending signals for him to go get a burger.

"Well, whatever. You want a burger?" he asked, starting to push himself up from his seat.

England had been doing a lot of thinking, however, during the long seconds it had taken for America's mind to give the metaphorical shrug. At first it had been concerned with dealing with the mild humiliation and dent to his pride from losing the stare-war. It had then turned its attention back to the video, first of all trying to muse what America found so funny about it. When his mind determined that it would, however, never be able to comprehend the inner workings of the bloody Yank's head, it began to idly wonder just what video France had linked him to in the first place. He had said France had e-mailed him a link to something, but what sort of thing would the Frog send _America _of all people? It was more likely he'd send something to Spain or even England himself.

Yes, it certainly was strange that France would send him a video. So then, it must be something suspicious. And if it was sent to America, then it might perhaps be something rather embarrassing about himself. But of course, there would be only one way to find out.

So when America went to rise out of his seat and fetch a burger, England planted one elbow right in his stomach and pushed him back down. Cupping his chin with the hand of the elbow resting on his former territory, he gripped the arm of the chair tightly with his other hand and grinned wolfishly at the blond man, field-green eyes glinting demonically. America's eyes opened wide in surprise and he let out a strangled grunt as his back hit the chair hard.

"Hey, America, I know…" England began, tongue ghosting over his lips. "Why don't you tell me what was in that video France sent you…?"

**ooo**

"_Y-you're the Ph-phantom Artist… a-aren't you…?" the man gasped, back pressed tightly to the cold, damp alley wall. He let out another sound, somewhere between a moan and a pant, as gloved fingers grasped tighter around his chin._

"_Well, you have me all figured out, don't you…?" the masked blond's voice sounded almost musical in its soft delight. "Tell me about myself…"_

_The man gulped, breath coming out in ragged puffs. "Y-you steal h-historical artefacts, ancient t-treasures, from museums, and… a-and leave behind a crude sketch a-as your calling card… Y-you-"_

_The man was cut off as the back of his head was ground against the brickwork. His captor's eyes glittered dangerously._

"_Crude? Care to rephrase that?"_

"_S-sorry…" the man huffed, cheeks dyed a pale red. "I meant inventive modern art m-masterpieces."_

"_Much better," the masked man grinned. He looked at the man's eyes and caught sight of something there, a look which showed there was something more. "Oh? Do you have something you want to ask?"_

_He leaned in close as he said that, and his breath tickled the other man's neck._

_The man gasped again, cheeks unwillingly burning. "I w-wondered… w-why did you g-grab me?"_

_His captor raised one eyebrow, mildly surprised, but grinned. "Why you?" He leaned in even closer, until their faces were almost touching, and breathed his next words no louder than a whisper. "Because I heard you once dominated so many, but that you yourself love to be dominated…"_

**ooo**

America quivered under England's predatory gaze and bodyweight for a moment, before somehow managing to pull himself together. His eyes lost their fearful and surprised tint, and, using his superior strength, he pushed himself up into a proper sitting position, forcing England off him. The Brit staggered backwards, startled, with a yelp.

"England, just because there's a new Pirates of the Caribbean movie coming out, doesn't mean you can go around pretending to be a pirate like you used to be!" America complained. England's jaw hung slack, and he faintly and only half-coherently mumbled something about being nothing like a pirate.

"You really wanna know what was in the video?" America asked, teasing England by giving him the same look schoolteachers give to disobedient pupils while berating them.

England nodded dumbly.

"Well, y'know how there're people in the world who are interested by 'us'. Y'know, us nations," America began to explain, dragging his chair up to the desk with his feet and grasping England's sleeve with one hand to tug him closer to the computer screen.

"Yeah…"

"Well, France found a bunch of videos they'd made online, and he sent me a link to one of them." America tapped a few keys on the keyboard and clicked around until he pulled up a page on the internet which began to buffer the video.

England leaned in closer, eyes flickering along the title. "Big Ben…" he muttered. "Why would they be interested in Big Ben…? Why would _France_ be interested in Big Ben?"

All of a sudden, taking the Englishman slightly by surprise, the video began to play.

England watched.

England blanched.

England slammed the lid down on the laptop and cursed the Frog so loud the whole of the United States could hear.

Which really annoyed him, because he was sat right next to the guy and he was screeching so loud it was hurting his ears. Wincing, he waited for the Brit to calm down a little before he chided, "Did you have to slam down my laptop that hard? If it's broken, you're paying for it."

England looked ready to commit murder, but the American noticed that he was also blushing ever-so-slightly. The Yank grinned. He'd make sure to remember that.

After a lengthy silence, England finally hung his head and let out a long sigh. "Now I can see why France sent it to you."

America chuckled a little, before giving a shrug. "It's not the first time he's sent me something. He's being doing it more and more recently, actually. It's getting kind of annoying."

England looked up, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. "Really?"

America nodded and started spinning around in his swivel-seat. "Yeah. A couple of weeks ago he told me I needed 'educating' or something, and then a few days later this videogame arrived in the post."

He gestured to a disc case lying haphazardly on top of a stack of old magazines. England, curious, stepped over and picked it up. "Have you played it?" he asked as he flipped it over and began reading the back cover.

"Nah. It's for the PC, which is kinda boring. Not to mention it's one of Japan's virtual novel games, so there's not really any death or shooting, which is kinda lame."

England raised an eyebrow in a 'says you' fashion, before returning his attention to the game. His eyebrow migrated further up his forehead, and was quickly joined by its companion, as he finished reading the text.

Oblivious to the Englishman's astonishment, America had kept on talking. "-and then I found you can't really do that with a shovel, so I was kind of bored. Which is why I was watching some movies with Tony before you got here… Huh? England?"

The American had only just realised his fellow nation's expression. Tilting his head to one side, America watched, both curious and anxious, as he waited for a response.

England, who had been staring wide-eyed at America, took a look back down.

'_Warning- this game contains explicit content. Not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. Objectionable content includes- sex, yaoi, rape, dub-con and violence_.

_Due to the nature of its storyline, this game contains graphic yaoi sex scenes_. _Purchasers have been warned._'

"You should try it sometime," he told him, and tossed the case onto the desk next to the laptop.

**ooo**

"_Mmn…" the pale blond moaned contentedly into the shoulder of the other man, clutching his chest with long, slender fingers. The other blond chuckled quietly, brushing a hand across the other's cheek, before scrunching up the covers as he sat up._

"_Huh?" his partner murmured in confusion, eyelids fluttering back to reveal his bright green irises as he rolled over._

_A pair of blue eyes blinked back at him, as the other man looked his way whilst sliding out from between the covers. The sapphire depths held a tinge of sadness, but there was also a trace of love there, amongst the myriad of other emotions pooled together._

"_Do you have to go?" the green-eyed man asked, voice sounding pained. He hadn't wanted this night to end._

"_You know I have to," the other replied, clothes rustling as he crudely tugged them on. "I can't linger around, not carrying what I'm carrying."_

_The lighter blond sat up, eyebrows clenching in anger. "But it's all because of you that I-!"_

"_I know," the other cut him off, a small smirk twitching at his face. "And hey, maybe I'll find you again sometime."_

_The paler-haired man opened his mouth to retort, but the blue-eyed blond simply gave one last wink before grabbing his bag and opening the door. Slipping on a plain black mask, he muttered,_

"_Don't ever forget the Phantom Artist, alright?"_

**ooo**

America sat bolt upright in bed, chest heaving and a faint sheen of sweat glittering across his body. The clock to his right glowed 00:48 amidst the darkness. His eyes were opened wide, blinking as they struggled to make out anything amongst the blackness of the room and adjusted to seeing without his glasses. His cheeks burnt a faint pinkish-red as his mind whirled over the thing that had woken him, and his whole body felt uncomfortably hot.

"I can't believe…" he muttered, speaking out loud to try and bring some order to his thoughts. "…that I was dreaming about _that_!"

His lungs continued to inhale and exhale deeply as his mind finally grasped and filed away the 'fantasies' that had been troubling him. Eventually, after another glance at the clock, he decided that all he could do was go back to sleep and pretend nothing had ever happened. Maybe he would even try to dream about waffles. Or Call of Duty.

As he snuggled his head into the pillow and settled down, drawing his duvet back over himself, he childishly muttered,

"I am never playing anything that England suggests ever again!"

**ooo**

_A/N- Me again! Just a note for if you're curious about anything._

_'Rejected Cartoons'. Just type it into you tube and click on the first result. That's how i found it after a friend recommended it. It's... weird. Has some... gore. Watch out for that._

_'Big Ben'. Actually 'Nice Big Ben' is the full title. Another you tube video. May not be suitable for younger viewers. There's a bunch of them. Each has a different Hetalia nation. Alternative way to find- google 'Hetalia meme' and click on the wiki link. Links inside._

_'Dominated'. Based on content in another you tube video, titled 'Arthur Kirkland, Hes English But Hes Good!'. This is really funny. I only found it whilst writing this fic. I recommend it. One of the best 51 seconds of your life._

_'Phantom Artist'. Made this up. Supposed to be America (although that should be pretty obvious now). Kind of subconsciously merged together elements of DNAngel and the latest Japanese virtual novel game I'm currently playing. Which, incidentally, is the inspiration for the game in this fic. (And, incidentally, is why I will not name the game. This fic is only a T.)_

_Also, yay new PotC movie! And a new Johnny English film's coming out soon too! I'm so excited!_


	8. England's Imminent Demise

_A/N- Oh my gosh, sorry for the long wait before the update guys! I've been so busy with school work, and then three weeks ago I finished for summer, but I've been so busy with summer things and my birthday (July 15th, so I went to see the final Harry Potter on release day! In 3D! And I'm now 17! Yay!) that I haven't had time to write. And I've felt so... uninspired, too. But I'm over that now! Two hours for a oneshot like this is record time for me! And I've included a bonus extra at the end, to make up. Please enjoy!_

_This one was inspired by too many Joss Whedon series, I think. And Basil Brush. It's also not quite as funny as I'd like. Sorry._

_Disclaimer- I don't own Hetalia, etc. etc. yadda yadda yadda burger etc. etc._

**ooo**

**England's Imminent Demise**

I shivered as I felt the icy tendrils of a chill creep up my spine. Ever so slightly calloused fingers brushed up my back, eliciting a vertical line of goosebumps through the crisp fabric of my shirt. My breath huffed out of my lips as my lungs spasmed slightly, and I desperately fumbled with my top button , fingers pushing and pulling it clumsily as I frantically tried to put as much cotton as possibly between my neck and him.

My brain still couldn't quite comprehend the situation. All I knew was that America most definitely was _not _himself, and was also most definitely exceedingly dangerous right now. Oh, and I was also in extraordinary danger too. One can't forget that part.

As his breath ghosted past my cheek, I frenziedly tried to put together a coherent timeline in my head, and work out exactly what was going on, and how on earth I'd ended up in this mess. Because right now, as his tongue poked out and lapped along my jaw, testing and tasting me, my mind was having a hard time grasping everything. Images flashed before my eyes, but I was struggling to remember exactly what had happened. I took a quick shallow breath, green eyes widening fractionally in fear as they slid sideways and locked with what I'd expected to be bright blue.

Instead, they met with brilliant red.

I struggled to tear myself away from the crimson depths. I was almost mesmerised by them, as if they were trying to place me in some kind of trance. Desperately, I forced images into my head- young America cradled in my arms, clinging to me as I told him he'd be stuck alone in his big, empty house, his enthusiastic grin at my utter disbelief when I returned and he'd out-grown me- my eyes shutting instinctively as I replayed our shared history. Freed from his spell, I began to work on the events of tonight, starting at the beginning, as I felt a few stray strands of his hair sweep across my face and his nose press against my cheek as it brushed and nuzzled down towards my collar.

Bloody hell, this wasn't good.

**ooo**

_Smack! Smack! Smack!_

_My knuckles wrapped hard against the painted wood of the door as I shivered in the chill of the evening air. My left hand pulled tightly against the fabric of my coat, struggling futilely to tug it any further around my body. My breath was visible before my face, billowing clouds which looked like dragon's smoke and vaguely reminded me of The Lord of The Rings. It was twenty-five degrees back home, supposedly even hotter now I was in the US, and it was the middle of July. Why the hell was it so goddam cold all of a sudden?_

_I was just about to lose my temper at being left freezing outside and break the bloody door down, when all of a sudden, with a slam of bolts (when the hell did he fit giant bolts? !) and an echoing creak that put old English castles to shame, the door shudderingly swung open._

_I peered into the gloom, one gloved hand shielding my eyes as they struggled to adjust. I didn't enter, not yet, just stood there, staring, waiting for an invite or _something. _It would have been rude to just barge in, after all._ _But there was… nothing._

_America did not appear. No voice called to me from further within. It was as if the door had opened by itself._

_By magic._

_But America did not believe in such things._

_America couldn't see my unicorn, Tinkerbell, my precious Flying Mint Bunny, or any of my magical friends._

_So how the hell did he do that?_

_It's not as if it were time for our annual Halloween contest. You don't win if you're three months early. Besides, America never wins that, anyway. He's a giant effing chicken, for God's sake! Although I did hear he once scared the crap out of Japan. Well, if he's trying that now, and he thinks he can frighten the United Bloody Kingdom, master of the dark arts and wielder of power incomprehensible, then that brat has another thing coming. He'll get a good clip round the ear, for one thing._

_Rolling up one sleeve slightly to display my determination (and level of 'pissed off'), I stepped through the doorway._

_America's hallway was dark. No lights were on, and no candles had been left out to illuminate the house. It was equally cold in there as outside, if not colder. My blonde hair billowed and fluttered slightly as the door swung shut with a thunk. I spun around at that, startled. This wasn't right. The doors at America's house do not… no, cannot, shut on their own. There must be some explanation for this._

_Scrunching my eyebrows together, I thought hard. No piece of wood outwits me, after all. After a short moment I concluded that it must have been caught by a draft and blown shut. Yes, that sounded about right. Happened to doors in my own house all the time, especially if I left a window open. That was it. A draft._

_Except I couldn't feel a draft. My hair and clothes were still._

_Frowning deeper, I turned back around and pressed on, stepping further into the Yank's home. I stopped as I reached the base of the stairs, unsure whether or not to continue. Did it count as breaking and entering if the door opened by itself?_

_Hmph. I exhaled forcefully and clenched my fists. Look at me, starting to fret. That damn America was just trying to frighten me. And I was ashamed to admit that it had been starting to work. Well, I'd put a stop to all that nonsense. Nothing would get the better of my cool. Nothing._

"_America?" I called out, cupping a hand next to my mouth to amplify my voice. "Where the hell are you, you git?"_

_I half didn't expect a response. If America had been trying to phase me, the best thing to do would have been to keep quiet. After all, pretending he were dead or the house was deserted would have been far more terrifying than having me know he was here. So I jumped ever-so-slightly when I received a response._

"_I'm right up here, England. Come upstairs."_

_For a brief moment, that wiped the frown off my face, but irritation quickly brought it back. I began to stomp up the carpeted staircase, fear completed dissipated, ready to wallop him one._

"_Why the bloody hell were you hiding, you bloody bastard? ! What the bloody hell did you think you were playing at-"_

_I trailed off as I rounded the corner and ran into a sight I most certainly did not expect to see. My eyebrows shot immediately to the top of my forehead, my eyes widened as far as they would stretch, and my jaw practically received carpet burns._

_America was standing in his room, facing towards me. Now that in itself is no cause for such a degree of shock. No, what was shocking was his… his…_

_His attire._

_America was dressed exactly like something out of the Rocky Horror Show. Red corset, black lace, stockings, high heeled boots…_

_I almost shat myself there and then._

_For a whole minute, I couldn't peel my eyes away from him. I simply stood there, immobile, body totally incapable of movement. The only motion was a rapid blinking of my eyes as I tried to clear the apparent hallucination._

_Only it wasn't a hallucination. It was very much real._

_Eventually, when the shock began to abate fractionally, I tore my eyes from his clothes. They flickered to the bed behind him, which was most definitely not the bed I remembered him having. Because I was pretty sure America never had a luxurious four-poster bed with crimson-coloured satin sheets and a glossy, veneered oaken frame._

_And it most definitely never had the pale, washed-out corpse of his brother Canada on it._

_Oh shit._

_I cupped my hands to my mouth as I tried not to vomit._

_Oh crap._

_Blood trickled down from twin bite marks on his neck, staining the quilt a deeper shade of red._

_Oh bloody hell no._

_His face was frozen in a death mask of pure terror, eyes wide in absolute fear._

_The room swam. I honestly thought I was about to pass out. This simply wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. This must be some kind of illusion. I gaped at the body, stomach wrenching and a few tears forming in the corners of my already widened eyes. I was only broken out of the pure horror which had seized me by the sound of America's voice._

_He stepped towards me, hips swaying as he glided forwards in those ridiculous heels, speaking in a voice which was oh so definitely his, but at the same time oh so definitely not his._

"_What's the matter, England? Something wrong? You've gone so pale… Is this really such a shock? I told you on the phone I'd been renovating… Don't you like it?"_

_He bent down, and his face hovered inches… no, centimetres, from mine._

_He smiled, and I swear to God… I saw fangs. Fangs tinted with blood. Canada's blood._

"_You look so tasty…"_

_I quivered. My breath came out shakily. But my muscles were locked in place. I couldn't move as he leaned even closer forwards, face brushing against mine, and unbuttoned my coat slowly, one button at a time, teasing me, taunting me…_

_With a soft phwump it fell to the floor. He grasped one of my hands and gently tugged at the black cotton glove, allowing it to fall to the ground beside my coat. Its twin soon joined it._

_America chuckled predatorily as he leaned in to me again, mouth open and twisted up in one corner._

"_W-what's happened t-to you… America?" I whispered, unable to gain full control over my vocal chords._

_He chuckled again. It was a far cry from his usual dopey, carefree laugh. This chuckle was… sinister. It had a malicious intent._

"_Why England, I thought you of all people would be able to guess. You do love your fantastical creatures after all. Isn't it so obvious that I've become a… vampire?"_

**ooo**

Which brings us back to the scream-inducing present. My screams, by the way, because that was what I almost felt like doing. Screaming. Screaming and running away, out of the house, like a little girl, as fast as I possibly could. Because America was in a corset, with Canada's blood on his _fangs_, and the way his voice had caressed the word 'vampire' made me absolutely certain that he'd completely lost his mind.

And he also completely wanted my blood.

His tongue lapped along above my shirt collar as his fingers reached up and gripped my own tightly, preventing me from completely fastening my top button. As he did so, I felt my collar slipping. Oh bloody hell, when did it come to this? When did it come to pass that the only thing shielding my jugular from a ravenous, vampiric America with a taste for Commonwealth blood was two millimetres of starched cotton?

"Heh heh…" America breathed, eyes gazing lustfully at my throat as his fingers left mine and peeled back my collar from my neck.

Oh bollocks. There went my last line of defence.

"Please don't do this…" I begged in a whisper, eyes locked onto his golden hair as he pressed his face to my throat and inhaled deeply.

His sigh afterwards caused my legs to begin to shake. I trembled on the spot, unable to unroot my legs from the ground and flee, as I realised with crushing certainty what he was about to do.

I felt his lips part against my skin.

I felt his tongue poke out slightly, gaining a final taste before…

I felt the sudden pain as his teeth pierced my skin and my crimson blood flowed into his mouth.

My body clenched in pain as I cried out, and then the whole world rolled and everything went black.

**ooo**

I jerked up with a gasp, the sheets sliding down from my chest as I sat there, panting. Everything was dark, apart from the obnoxiously fluorescent green light of the digital clock on my bedside table. Its face displayed a time of two forty-seven AM. As I watched, it ticked over to forty-eight.

Was that… had all that just been a dream? My eyes wandered around as they grew accustomed to the shadows. My normal room, with everything in its normal place. My normal teddy bear by my normal side. Not America's house. And definitely not that warped and distorted version either. Everything was… normal.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Canada was alive. America was… himself. Reaching up, I discovered a distinctive lack of bite marks around my jugular. Good. I was fine. It had all been my imagination.

My eyes flicked back to the clock again. Forty-nine now. Almost three. I needed to get back to sleep soon. I had a meeting early tomorrow after all. I'd been busy with meetings all day, actually. I hadn't gotten in until ten at night. That's why I'd…

My gaze lowered to the empty plate beside the clock. Only a few crumbs and a knife were left on it.

I almost wanted to let out a groan.

That's why I'd grabbed that plate of cheese before I'd gone to bed.

I let out a small, sarcastic laugh.

"I guess it's true what they say," I moaned, covering my face with one hand. I felt like punching myself for my stupidity.

"Cheese before bed gives you nightmares…"

THE END.

ooo

_A/N 2- There you go! Hope you enjoyed it! Now then, I promised an extra at the end, so here are two unfinished bits of oneshots I started but then never completed. They're short because I was just throwing ideas around to try and get writing, but never really felt the bug, if you know what I mean._

_Please enjoy!_

**ooo**

_**Unfinished Oneshot No. 1- Japan's Collection**_

[Insert opening of England visiting Japan and finding anime collection here]

England's eyes were widened with awe as he surveyed the man's collection.

"Huh? No Avatar the Last Airbender?"

Japan looked a little disgruntled. "That is not really 'anime' per se. I was referring to the animated series produced by my home."

"Ah, alright then," England replied, still gazing at row after row of DVDs. The whole wall was bright and multi-coloured from the cases. It was a truly spectacular sight.

The Brit's eyes locked on to one series in particular as he reached down and tugged it off the shelf. While his eyes scanned the artwork on the cover, Japan looked on in silence.

"Kuroshitsuji… Black Butler… Hey, weren't we talking about this right before that one time?"

Japan's head bobbed back in mild surprise. "That one time? Oh, do you mean the time we were trapped at your house?"

England nodded, eyes glinting slightly. A small smile of happiness at striking up a conversation flickered over his lips. "Yes, that's right! Now what happened again… ?"

Japan's eyes slipped to the floor. He shuffled nervously, clearing displaying his awkwardness. "I… don't remember. To be honest I think I tried to blank it out from my memory…"

Unfortunately for him, the Englishmen looked undeterred.

"Oh, I wrote about it in my journal! Hang on a tic, let me just refresh my memory…"

Japan winced visibly as the blond fumbled through his pockets, patting down his jackets as he searched for the tome in question. With a cry of "Aha!" he fished out a small, slightly dishevelled brown leather diary from somewhere on his person. Flicking the numbers around on the padlock with his thumb, he quickly opened up the book and began rifling through the pages, occasionally licking his fingers for better grip.

"Here we go!" he declared, snapping the journal open wider and causing the Japanese man to jump three feet into the air. "Found the bugger!"

Without pausing to allow his friend to comment, England began to read from the page.

"_May 21st 2011. Today, Japan and America visited my home._

**ooo**

_**Unfinished Oneshot No. 2- Britannia's Angel**_

England groaned as his mind flashed back to the memory in question.

_"I am Britannia Angel! Fear my mighty magic of doom! Defy me and you will be shot in the face by my wand!" a very drunk Brit dressed only in a loosely tied white bath towel and pair of strap-on fairy wings from a 5 year old's dress-up set declared, literally leaping into the room._

_"Dude, what the hell are you on? Crack?" America asked, looking at his friend in disbelief and trying not to burst into uncontrollable snorts of laughter. He almost dropped the glass of beer he was clutching in one hand as his fingers and body trembled from suppressing his amusement._


	9. America's Wrytigns

_A/N- Yay, another oneshot! I've been reading 'the worst of the worst' fanfic-wise recently, including such gems as 'My Immortal', 'Cloud mows the lawn' and 'legolas by laura', so I guess this is inspired by them. I wanted to try my hand at writing 'badfic', but I didn't want to write a troll fic, so I thought I'd (not so) cleverly weave it into another Hetalia oneshot. Also, I wanted to write drunk England again. Tee hee._

_Oh, and I got a Pottermore account! First day of the quill challenge too! I owe my Dad's vigilance for that. Oh and happy 20th birthday to the Travelling Man stores! Without them, my manga and trading card collection would be much smaller. And I wouldn't have my cool bag or 'Release the attack kittens!' t-shirt._

_So, without further ado, please enjoy!_

_Disclaimer- I do not claim to own Hetalia. I just enjoy forcing alcohol down their throats and sauce down their.. well... heh heh..._

**ooo**

**America's Wrytigns**

_Tap tap tap._

_Tap tap tap._

_Tap._

_Tap tap tap._

Darkness filled the room, the sun's rays unable to penetrate the thick black curtains pulled firmly across the unwashed windows. Unwashed, of course, because the owner had been not only too lazy to go outside and clean them, but because he had been _inspired_. And now he was working on his masterpiece.

Occasional, uneven breaths filled the shadowy confines, sometimes interrupted by a sudden gasping intake as yet another idea struck the man. His glasses had slid down his nose, but his fingers were too hard at work, frantically smashing at the keys before him, to push them back up. It was going to be his greatest work yet. A piece of literary craftsmanship that would rival Shakespeare, or any other bearded git that caterpillar-eyebrowed jerk could come up with. Seriously, it wasn't fair that he got so many of the greats, while things like _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ was not on the classic literature curriculum. The addition of zombies was pure genius! It made the book way more readable.

But he was getting off the point. Simply put, he was now penning something far greater and far superior to anything ever written before. It would surpass Tolkien, Pratchett, Rowling… all of them. It would-

Oh wait, that reminded him.

Saving his work, he opened his web browser and brought up his e-mail. He clicked refresh.

Damn it. His _Pottermore_ e-mail hadn't come through. He'd stayed up all night just to wait for the right time! He'd even bribed England with the promise of only drinking tea for a month just to find out the timing of the next clue! Why was his verification taking so long? !

Sighing, he minimised the software and returned to his work.

_Tap tap tap tap._

Mashing the enter button with his finger, he paused.

Hmm, what to write next? He scratched his chin in thought, finally nudging his glasses up in the process. Blue eyes flittered back and forth as he re-read his prose, scouring it for ideas.

It seemed he had hit what those in the industry called 'Writer's Block', or as he liked to think of it, 'Stupid Motherf- Piece of S- Block'. It's wasn't fair. Heroes should just be able to fly around it or something, right?

Bashing his head a couple of times to see if it would knock any ideas loose, he groaned again in frustration and stood up to go get a beer out of the fridge. Hey, maybe if he got drunk enough he'd start seeing things and get some inspiration? Of course if he were that drunk the chances of him remembering it when he was sober again would be slim. Heh, maybe a cola would be better then.

Creaking open the refrigerator (man, he really needed to get that thing replaced), he heard a noise from the front door. Grabbing a can of whatever was closest and snapping the fridge shut, he turned and checked the nearby clock. Eleven-forty six at night. Who on earth was on his porch at this hour? It was almost midnight!

His can fizzed and hissed as he popped it open and took a swig as he headed over to the door, hearing a fumbled knock on the wood as he approached. With a click, he unlocked the door and opened it a few inches to check who was outside.

"Argh!" America cried out as the ajar door was suddenly flung wide open, smashing into his face as whoever had been outside suddenly tumbled into it. His can flew out of his hand and rolled a few feet away, spraying soda all over the carpet.

Tilting his head to one side as he was pinned to the ground by a sprawling mass, he attempted to spit out the blonde hair which had fallen into his surprised mouth. Whoever had tumbled onto him was clearly pissed, judging by the stench of booze emanating from them and the half-empty bottle of beer which had joined his soda can on the carpet.

America's eyes suddenly did a double take. His gaze flickered over the writing on the bottle. '_Fuller's 1845 Bottle Conditioned Ale_'.

Oh great. It was _England_ on top of him.

Suddenly, he heard a moan. This was followed by some shaky movements as somehow the Brit managed to push himself up and onto his knees, finally giving America some wiggle-room. A couple of seconds later, the American had successfully freed himself, and the transatlantic pair were sat opposite each other across a growing pond of carbonated soft drink and alcohol.

"Urgh, my head…" England moaned, face pointed to the ground and one hand clutching his forehead.

America stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight of the man's dishevelled appearance. His clothes were crumpled and dirty, his shirt stained with what was probably ale from the bottle. He had torn one sleeve, and blood had clotted around the scrape it revealed. There was also what looked like mud, or at least that's what America hoped it was, all over the legs of his jeans.

Wait, jeans? Wasn't England supposed to be a gentleman?

The Yank shook his head before standing up and grasping England tightly by one shoulder, hauling him to his feet. For a second he thought the man would fall over again, but he managed to catch his balance after a moment.

Finally, the Englishman looked up and locked eyes with America.

"Huh, America? S'that you? What're you doin' 'ere? Sh'dn't you be 'n bed? S'late…"

America's brow creased slightly in concern. He really hoped England wasn't going to go on one of his drunk, depressive rants again. It had been bad enough the last time they'd gone out drinking together and he'd started whining. What had he said again? Something about telling him what to tell him what to do? Anyway, there was that, and then there was also what he'd heard from Canada with regards to his birthday.

Ah, yes, that reminded him.

"Hey England, I am all grown up y'know. I can stay up as late as I want. Besides, what are you doing here, anyway? Oh, and don't blow chunks all over my carpet."

England mumbled for a moment before becoming slightly more coherent.

"I j'st came by t' visit, s'all. Ar'n't I 'llowed t' do that? 'N I was wond'ring 'f you had 'ny booze…"

America gave England a stern gaze. "Dude, you really shouldn't have any more beer-"

"SHADDUP!" England suddenly yelled, shoving America to one side and striding forwards into his front room. "Kitchen's this way, ri'?"

America hurried after him. "England! What the hell are you doing? !"

But before he could stop him, the Brit had already yanked open the fridge door and was gutting the contents, throwing things on to the floor out of his way on his quest for more liver damage.

"Wah! My pickle jar!" America cried out as it smashed onto the ground.

England finally gave up as he reached the bottom shelf and discovered a distinct lack of alcohol.

"Where the bloody 'ell's your booze? !"

"I ran out," America snapped, crouching down to clean up some of the mess the Brit had made. He certainly wasn't going to tell him about the hidden stash in his fridge's awesome secret compartment. "Jeez, you've got glass everywhere. This is gonna cost a fortune to replace. And my wieners are ruined."

"Stupid 'Merica…" England mumbled, folding his arms rather overdramatically and pouting. Suddenly his eyes caught sight of something. As America had knelt down, and was stretching out to clear up the mess, his jeans had pulled down a little, as is sometimes wont to happen in situations such as these. He had, as England's mind so graciously thought it, 'got builder's bum'.

Some of America's arse was on display. England couldn't help but giggle slightly. Yes, giggle. Well, he was drunk, after all.

And then, he got an idea. Glancing around for a brief second, he noticed one of the few products which had been fortunate enough to cling on to a place in the fridge. While America's attention was diverted elsewhere, he sneakily reached out an arm and grabbed it, then made a big show of courteously moving out of the American's way so he could clean around where his feet had been. Stepping around behind America, he grinned evilly as he quietly opened the lid of the bottle.

"This is gonna be bloody brilliant…" he whispered.

Two seconds later, America practically shrieked as the cold ketchup dribbled down his ass-crack.

"WHAT THE HELL? !"

He leapt to his feet and span around to see an England who was doubled-up and howling with laughter. For a second, he half considered punching the Brit's lights out, but when the man swayed and almost collapsed into the nearby counter, he forced himself to remember that England was drunk and that he was _completely_ under the influence of alcohol.

As England propped himself up against the worktop, still chuckling, his green gaze locked with America's. After a few moments, his breathing began to return to normal and his laughter died down.

"Um, America," he said, voice sounding slightly remorseful.

"Yes?"

"… You've got red on your pants."

"I know."

A pause thickened the air.

"…Are you on your period?"

England burst out laughing again.

America gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. England was being even more of a pain than his drunk self usually was tonight. Just what had he been drinking?

Just as America was about to give in and let the Brit meet Mr Fist, said man suddenly keeled over, passing out on the kitchen floor. America winced at the crack as his head hit the ground. Kneeling down, he checked for bleeding or damage. Finding none, he sighed and slid his arms under the man, hoisting him up. Grunting a little, he carried the unconscious Englishman over to his sofa and fetched a blanket from the stack of freshly-washed laundry, draping it over him. Poor guy was already drooling in his sleep. He stood watching the man for a moment, then let out a sigh and returned to his laptop. He clicked 'save' on his work before closing the program and shutting the machine down. He was too tired to work anymore; he'd finish it up tomorrow. Pushing his seat under the desk, he gave one last glance towards the peacefully sleeping body of England, before heading upstairs to bed.

**ooo**

The next morning, England awoke to both a pounding headache and the tapping of keys. With a moan he began to move, propping himself up with one elbow as he inched open his eyelids and blearily surveyed his surroundings.

America's house. Oh great.

"A-America? Is that you…?" he croaked, throat dry as the Sahara Desert.

"Yeah, I'm over here, dude," the man in question replied. England's eyes tracked over to the source of the noise.

"Oh, you're typing…" he stated. He'd wondered what that sound had been.

"Why am I here? What happened?" he asked after a minute.

America didn't even pause in his typing. He replied, "You were drunk. You passed out here. I put you on the sofa and left you to sleep."

England blinked. "Th-thank you." As he shifted one hand, he noticed the blanket. America must have put this on him too. For some reason, he felt a slight blush forming on his cheeks, but he closed his eyes and managed to dismiss it.

After a few more minutes of sitting there while America typed, England decided he should probably try to stand up. Ever so slowly, he inched around, swinging his legs round and carefully rising to his feet. Once he had checked his balance, and was sure he wasn't likely to fall, he made his way over to America. Standing behind him, he asked, "What are you typing?"

Finally, America paused. "I'm just writing."

England leaned down over America's shoulder.

"Can I read it?"

"Seems like you're going to anyway," America griped, but moved to one side. "Go ahead dude."

"Thanks," England replied absentmindedly, as he moved in closer.

Suddenly, America's ego got the better of him. "It's totally the most awesome thing ever written!"

England chuckled. America blinked in shock. The Brit seemed completely oblivious to his unusual pleasantness.

"Let's see then…" England muttered as his emerald eyes began to flicker across the screen.

**ooo**

_Harry washes the dishes_

_A Harry Potter fanfic from the United States of America_

_A/N Thnx 4 ur sprrot evry1!111 N if u flam den u r a prep!11!_

_1 day Hrry was mowig the sidhes. Suddenlt a hude meteorite burnifn da sky._

_Nooooo sed ginny. She was harry's girlfrend. they dd it evry nite. (AN- Just lik I od!)_

_suddenlt harry wiped out his wnad and sad EXPRESSIARMUS!111_

_Da metetalite brew up ento hundredzz of gnat pieses._

_evry1 loaved happly eva afta._

_THE EDN._

**ooo**

There was silence in the room for a moment after England had finished reading. America waited eagerly, metaphorical tail wagging, for England's opinion.

"Well…" England began, eyes still locked straight ahead at the screen. "That was… something."

"It's awesome, right?" America babbled, grinning like an idiot.

"I suppose you could say it's that…" the Brit agreed, but his tone sounded unconvinced, as if he were about to qualify his statement.

"What do you mean 'suppose'?"

England sighed and turned to face his former colony. With the smile of a father who was about to tell his son that no matter what happened, it was trying that counts and he'd always love him, he placed one hand on the American's shoulder and said,

"America… don't give up your day job."

Blue eyes stared at him for a long moment.

"…I don't have a day job…"

THE END.


End file.
